


Such Sweet Sorrow

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cousin Incest, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: Romeo and Benvolio say goodbye before Romeo leaves Verona.
Relationships: Benvolio/Romeo Montague
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: RelationShipping 2020





	Such Sweet Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monsoon_moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsoon_moon/gifts).



Romeo’s eyes are empty, their usual warmth purged with grief and shock, leaving behind emptiness and stillness, black ice where there used to be soft velvet. Benvolio reaches out to touch his shoulder and Romeo flinches - not away, but as though he is in pain, a sensory overload that cannot handle even a scrap more of external pressure, no matter how comforting. Although, Benvolio is not quite certain how comforting he can be anyway - it was never his strength. He knows how to be soothing, calming, reassuring. But not exactly comforting. That was always Romeo’s role. And no more does he know how to be distracting: that role was – _use to be –_ Mercutio’s. So he stands there with his hand outstretched as though begging for forgiveness for his uselessness, as though hoping Romeo will hold it.

When Romeo clutches his hand and presses it to his own cheek, Benvolio lets out a soft gasp of surprise.

Benvolio steps forward as Romeo’s face crumbles and he practically falls into Benvolio’s arms, letting go of his hand to wrap his arms around Benvolio’s middle in what feels more like the grip of a drowning man latching on to a piece of driftwood, rather than a simple hug goodbye. Benvolio returns the embrace, hides his face against Romeo’s hair, inhales his familiar smell. It’s hard to believe that they are really saying goodbye forever – they have been friends for so long that Benvolio barely remembers himself before Romeo. Had there ever even been such a time? Had his life not always revolved around Romeo and Romeo alone?

“It won’t be forever,” Benvolio blurts out, the words muffled against Romeo’s temple. _We won’t be apart forever._

Romeo sniffles and pulls back just far enough to meet his eyes. “That’s what Friar Lawrence said, too. Do you think it’s really possible?”

 _What does Friar Lawrence know about it?_ Benvolio wonders. There’s wild hope in Romeo’s eyes and it breaks Benvolio’s heart. “Of course it is,” he says, smiling softly and reaching up to cup Romeo’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’ll find a way.” What reason does he have to stay in Verona anymore? Mercutio is dead and sweet Romeo exiled – what is left in Verona for Benvolio other than hatred and violence and far too many memories. Better to go into exile with Romeo. He has little hope that his uncle would ever deign to make him so important and indispensable to the family as to require his presence in Verona. Benvolio’s place had always been by Romeo’s side – as his playmate, his protector, his friend. _Oh never, never anything more than a friend._ That had always suited Benvolio well enough, and he sees no reason to go back on it now. 

Romeo nods and tries to smile. “I best go,” he says, but takes no steps to actually leave. 

_Don’t go,_ Benvolio wants to tell him. _Don’t leave me alone._ But they have no choice. He slides his hands over Romeo’s shoulders, down his arms, until they are only holding hands, the chasm between them growing. _It won’t be forever,_ Benvolio tells himself. 

“When you—” Romeo starts to say but breaks off in a sob. He tries again. “When you visit Mercutio’s grave, tell him—tell him I’m sorry, and that I loved him well.”

Benvolio smiles sadly. He wants to tell Romeo that Mercutio is far beyond such worries now, beyond everything really, but he’s afraid that will not help ease Romeo’s grief or guilt. “I will,” he promises. _Write to me,_ he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat. Somehow they feel too much like the words a lover might say in parting, and he has forbidden himself to indulge In such things. If he did, one thought would lead to another, to yet another, until the thoughts all crowded up in his head and burst out into some action, and God only knows where that would lead. 

He cannot imagine Romeo looking at him in disgust or even disapproval. It would destroy him. 

The sun is setting, spilling gold across the stone floor, putting gold flecks into Romeo’s dark hair. Tears still glisten on his face and Benvolio wishes he could see him smile one more time before he leaves, but he doesn’t dare ask it of him. He squeezes Romeo’s hands and tries to memorize their warmth instead. He feels like he’s dying. It’s a foolish thought, but that’s what it feels like - his chest hurts, it’s hard to breath, and his life flashes before his eyes. Some selections of it anyway.

_Romeo, barely a few days older than eight, with poppies and dandelions in his hair, laughing, and beckoning Benvolio to follow him down to the river, barefoot and unafraid of their tutor’s scolding. They lie in the sun and race each other across the river. Mercutio thinks it’s funny to jump out at them from the tall grass and make Romeo shriek and fall back against Benvolio’s bare chest. His hair is wet and Benvolio makes a face and tickles him to make him laugh before he can start crying. Romeo lunges at Mercutio to get revenge in a play-wrestling match and Benvolio’s hands feel empty. He picks some more flowers for Romeo’s basket to fill them again—_

_Romeo crawls into his bed to share the dream he’s had. His feet are cold, and Benvolio tries to focus on that instead of the sudden tightness in his abdomen. Romeo talks and talks, probably rehearsing for how he will present this story in the morning to Mercutio, who is a much better audience for such tales. Romeo is eleven and Benvolio knows this nighttime visit is not strange to him. They have always done this – snuck into each other’s rooms at night to share dreams, fears, ideas, haphazard philosophical thoughts. But Benvolio is thirteen and his world has begun to tilt at a strange angle. An angle at which girls still barely exist, but Mercutio’s jokes make him blush and the warmth of Romeo’s body against his under the blankets makes his head spin slowly. Moonlight ghosts over Romeo’s face, bleaching the rose of his cheeks and the dark chestnut of his eyebrows. Benvolio blinks and the feeling is almost gone. Almost – it never truly goes away—_

_“What happened?” Romeo asks, tracing the edges of the slash on Benvolio’s shoulder with his fingertips, not looking away even though blood has always made him uncomfortable. Benvolio shivers and tells him it’s nothing. It’s not nothing. Street brawls with Capulets must be given their weight, even if Benvolio is good at avoiding them and everyone – even Mercutio – seems committed to sheltering Romeo from them. Romeo looks up and his eyes are frightened and gentle all at once. He reaches out and pushes a strand of Benvolio’s hair out of his face. There is blood on his fingers and the sight of it makes Benvolio’s breath hitch. “Does it hurt?” Benvolio shakes his head. It’s a lie. Even shallow cuts hurt. But nothing hurts quite as much as knowing: he can’t protect Romeo from this forever. Romeo wouldn’t let him even if he could. It’s not his place; it’s not his right. So little about Romeo ever is—_

_Romeo is fifteen and he desperately wants to be in love – with a girl. Something about Mercutio’s jealous anger on this account makes Benvolio snicker bitterly in recognition. But girls are not keen to listen to Romeo’s poetry, so Benvolio takes on the role instead. Romeo lies with his head in Benvolio’s lap and rhymes_ kiss _with_ bliss _and_ lips _with_ ships. _Benvolio takes the opportunity to run his hands through Romeo’s hair. “And your hazel eyes shine with the sweetest love,” Romeo murmurs dreamily, looking up at the sky, “The fairest truth, the purest dove.” Benvolio closes his eyes and forces himself to acknowledge that it’s only a coincidence—_

 _Romeo’s carnival mask is lopsided, the large, colorful feathers he and Mercutio insisted on attaching to it drooping and a little plucked by the end of the night. He’s terribly tipsy as his hands find Benvolio’s. “Where’s Mercutio? Did we lose him again? Oh, never mind!” he shouts over the music and drunken laughter of the crowd. He pulls Benvolio closer until they’re pressed up against each other. There are people all around them, but no one notices how close they are. No one witnesses Benvolio’s hand tracing up Romeo’s chest and coming to rest at the nape of his neck. No one sees Romeo tip forward and kiss Benvolio on the mouth – soft and light and champagne-sweet._ Don’t, _Benvolio tries to say, but the words are stuck in his throat and his face burns._ Do it again, do it again, do it— _Romeo turns away and shrieks with laughter at something. The bubble growing in Benvolio’s chest ruptures, spills hot ice over his nerves. The pale blue feather on Romeo’s mask finally detaches and flutters down to the ground, immediately trampled in the dirt—_

 __“Go, Romeo, go now,” Benvolio says. “Before there is any question why you are still in Verona.”

Romeo starts to shake his head, cuts himself off, and tries to straighten his shoulders. “Farewell.”

“Goodbye.” He will not say _farewell._ Farewell is too final, and Benvolio refuses to believe that they will be apart forever. _I will find a way._

 __He watches Romeo walk away, wonders if he will turn and look back before turning the corner.

He doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> While ostensibly Shakespeare-based, I definitely drew inspiration for this goodbye scene from the Takarazuka RetJ staging, where Ben and Romeo reach for each other even as Benvolio backs away off-stage, leaving Romeo to his exile (and angst solo). Even though they must part, it's painfully obviously how much they need each other in that moment.


End file.
